


Small Talk

by atheling



Series: Lancelot and Gawain's Excellent Adventures [3]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Wingman Gawain, attempt at flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheling/pseuds/atheling
Summary: Gawain attempts to help Lancelot flirt.
Relationships: Gawain/Lancelot du Lac (Arthurian)
Series: Lancelot and Gawain's Excellent Adventures [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105058
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Small Talk

The inn was very crowded for this time of day, but Lancelot presumed such things happened when two strange knights rode into town and vanquished bandits. The circumstances which had gotten him to this point were not entirely regrettable, seeing as he had been able to at least have a good fight, but now Gawain’s scheme had settled back over his shoulders like a bucket of ice water. He was supposed to be  _ flirting _ . With  _ women.  _ He had nothing against women, but he did have quite a bit against flirting, and the particular combination of flirting with women was not one which particularly suited his sensibilities.

But he certainly couldn’t say that and he really couldn’t say that to Gawain, who brushed a hand against his arm in a silent offer of direction as they entered, and gestured to a seat with a barely perceptible nod. The place where his fingers had touched burned and tingled as they sat on the long wooden bench, Gawain adopting a casual posture that Lancelot tried and failed to imitate. Gawain shot him an odd look out of the corner of his eye. “Just relax,” he said, “you just need to be Lancelot, right?”

“Uh… what?”  _ Being Lancelot  _ was not something he was used to thinking of as a good thing, and the idea confused him. 

“You’re  _ Lancelot du Lac _ ,” Gawain said under his breath. “Anyone would go crazy for you. Stop doing weird things with your elbows.”

He was only stopped from remarking that Lancelot Du Lac did weird things in general by the approach of three young women arm in arm, smiling from shyly to boldly. Across the room someone laughed too loudly and he almost jumped. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” said the woman in the middle, gesturing to the bench across from them which was clearly empty.

Lancelot said nothing, assuming, as he was usually right to, that Gawain would answer for them. He didn’t, and glanced at Lancelot beside him questioningly. 

“Uh. No one is sitting there, no. Except that-- well now you’re all sitting there,” he amended as they took the empty space.  _ Oh, dear,  _ he thought. Gawain had abandoned him. This was a nightmare. He was alone with a mocking onlooker talking to three women he didn’t know with the apparent aim of-- his thoughts stopped in his tracks. What  _ was  _ the final aim? Did Gawain expect him to-- he blushed furiously, and then even more upon their concerned looks. 

The woman on the left seemed to take pity on him. “Are you two from Camelot?”

Gawain finally took pity on him, and for a blissful twenty seconds introductions were made without any required input from Lancelot except to nod when his name was mentioned, and mumble a thank you at the appreciating admiration of the ladies. The ladies were named Ysabele, Ettarde and-- oh no. He’d already forgotten one of them. Something like Susan or something. It started with an S. Or a C? 

“--but you’re a lot nicer than him,” Maybe Susan finished. She gave him a brilliant smile and he tried to remember what she had been saying. “And better looking.”

Gawain laughed and gave him a rough slap on the shoulder. “That’s certainly true.”

“Oh, well, well that’s very kind,” he managed, rusty gears grinding against each other in his mind to process the meaning of this gesture and comment and resulting only in an unpleasant metallic screeching. 

“I know, I’m a very kind person,” Gawain said easily. “You know, this is a lovely town you’ve got here. Shame we’ll only be here for a night.”

“That certainly is a shame,” said Maybe Susan boldly, then looked surprised a moment at her own boldness. She seemed the most demure of the three. 

“I should hope it to be a memorable night then,” Ysabele broke in with a small smile, bolstering her friends flagging confidence. 

“Oh, God,” said Lancelot quietly, although not quietly enough. 

To his credit, Gawain seemed to realise he wasn’t particularly happy with this specific situation. “Well,” he said, “let’s get some alcohol in here.”

Some alcohol was gotten in here. Namely tankards all around full, to some surprise with sweet apple cider.

“We have a huge orchard here,” Ettarde explained as if this was a scandalous secret. “And all the fruits that fall on the ground or get bruised and whatnot the inn buys real cheap and makes cider out back. It’s quite strong.”

“Oh!” said Lancelot, for the first time with genuine enthusiasm. He wasn’t planning on following whatever assumptions Gawain had about his evening; furthermore, if he was notably incapacitated they might prove impossible for reasons entirely other than his personal inclinations. He took a long sip as an excuse to not talk. 

“You know, La-- Lamor-- Lamoracko here is a very accomplished knight,” Gawain said, ending the sentence quite a bit weaker than he started it. Lancelot almost choked on his cider.

“That’s very-- very good of you to say, Gaheris.”

Gawain blanched, shot him a look like a wounded deer, and then, in an apparent attempt to recover from whatever tension might have crept into their conversation, said: “I’m not exaggerating, you’re a wonderful knight and an honour to work with.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Ysabele, and shot a pair of glances at each of her companions in turn. What these glances protented was impossible to divine but the raised eyebrow and knowing quirk of the lips was unpromising. “You seem to work well together. I’m sure you’ll find some way to make the night memorable without our assistance. Though it was very nice meeting you, of course, I think you’ve had enough of talking after a long day of travel.”

She ended her baffling statement with a convenience and a kindness, and Lancelot nodded gratefully at this offer. He managed to bid a mostly polite farewell to the ladies through his relief, before the rest of her meaning began to sink in. 

Gawain didn’t seem to have processed the exchange as quickly as he did. He turned to Lancelot with a bemused expression on his face. “What-- what just happened?”

Oh no. Was he going to have to explain? Lancelot began to doubt his own perception of the conversation, and went with a safe, “I’m not sure.” Honesty prevailed at the onset of Gawain's frown. “Well I believe-- I believe she may have gotten the wrong impression of us. Ah, from your comments I mean. Maybe.” 

“What?” Gawain gazed at him with wide eyes. “Did I-- did I say something mean? What did I say?”

“Oh. No. not that impression.” Why was Gawain so smart except when it was needed. Maybe Aristotle hadn’t covered this, Lancelot thought uncharitably. There were a lot of different sounds and sensations in the room and he was becoming rather too aware of all of them, and this made him a bit meaner than he’d perhaps like to be. “I mean-- well she may have thought-- incorrectly thought-- thought something salacious.”

“I was trying very hard to be salacious,” Gawain said, looking very confused. “I was under the impression they were all very interested in salaciousness as well.”

For a moment Lancelot wondered if Gawain was acting thick on purpose to tease him. But no. No Gawain didn’t lie to him. All oblique approaches were exhausted. A table leg squeaked across the room and it made his skin crawl. The very sensation of air on his skin seemed overbearing and the sound of conversation and clinking glasses and shuffling feet was thunderous as an approaching army. “They imagined we were-- uh, lovers.” 

“Oh! Oh.” Gawain seemed to relax slightly at this, or perhaps he forced his shoulders down in a pretence of relaxation. “Oh, that was probably my fault. Sorry about that. I should lay off with the compliments, haha!”

_ Please don’t _ , Lancelot thought, but he didn’t say it, because it sounded stupid and needy and conceited, and he had never been one to appreciate compliments. They felt different with Gawain, though. Everything felt different with Gawain. That was the whole root of the problem. Still, this particular situation seemed to have been salvaged mostly well: he had avoided whatever nefarious plans Gawain had projected onto him, Gawain didn’t seem especially troubled by being mistaken for his lover, and he had a tankard of some very nice apple cider in front of him. He nudged Gawain with his elbow. “There are-- I mean-- worse things,” he said. It was not at all what he intended to say. His jaw clenched. “That is-- you know-- because we’re friends. Could be worse. That’s what I mean.”

“Right!” Gawain said, with a chipper smile. “Well, we may as well take the apple cider for company tonight, if no other sort is presenting itself.”

Lancelot gave him a nod which he tried to keep from edging into wistful. He took another sip to hide his expression. Gawain was company enough. That was the worst part: he wished oh-so-desperately it wasn’t a misconception, that there was in fact something between them. 

He downed the rest of his tankard and tried to forget about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiii comments are so appreciated thank you for reading


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